To what can we compare your glory, O God?
By what measure can we examine your abundance?
How can we begin to praise your faithfulness?
We are chaff in the field
and you the wind that sweeps us about.
We are wilting trees
and you the flowing stream for our roots.
We are half-sentences and mumbles
while you are the living word.
We are weary routines of death —
you are new patterns of life.
Have mercy, O God,
for the sake of your reputation.
Have mercy, by the abundance of your grace.
We continue to live in death though you
have taught us the ways of life:
we continue to justify violence and bias;
we continue to covet our own security above all else;
we continue to want for ourselves more than we want for one another;
we continue to be mired in the shadows and distracted
by navel-gazing, forgetting to look up
so that we might see you.
As you have always done, as you will always do,
speak to us once again of life:
of the beauty of planting our roots in your ways,
of the joy found in knowing and animating your story,
of the peace that comes from trusting that
our names are written on your heart.
Confuse our convictions
with the foolishness of your love.
Deepen our faith
by the frustration of your mystery.
Sanctify our lives
with a calling of hope.
Cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals.